


Subterfuge

by Ancalime1



Series: In Silico [4]
Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: 3000+ words, Conflict, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Tron: Legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime1/pseuds/Ancalime1
Summary: A conflict of interests is discovered between User and Program.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to 'Chrysalis.' A narrative of the early days of the Grid, including how Tron City first got its name.

Subterfuge

 

“I feel like a god.”

These were the words that had been uttered by Kevin Flynn, who was currently standing on the brink between digital wilderness and the city that he had created. Blue-white skyscrapers and I/O towers beamed brilliantly into the sky. Roads and walkways twisted between buildings, teeming with programs and lightcycles that glowed like fireflies in the night. It was strange, he thought, strange and beautiful—far more beautiful than any edifice on earth. It was as if he stood now before a digital rendering of Atlantis or Utopia, or perhaps some resplendent and remote alien world.

Beside him stood another, a system monitor named Tron. Unlike the city that stretched before them, Tron himself was not from the Grid. Nor was he of Flynn’s making; rather, he had been compiled many cycles ago in the ENCOM system by a close associate of Flynn’s. His original directive was to surveil and eliminate malicious software, including ENCOM’s very own Master Control Program. Since then, he had been ported to the Grid in order to assist Flynn with security and maintenance. He was clad in sparsely lit armor, and his expression carried the stony pensiveness of a mind that is elsewhere. Not that his attentiveness mattered much; were he to consult his search query as to what a ‘god’ was, he would have found no matching definition. The only concepts that programs held of gods were manifest in the form of the Users—and more specifically, in Kevin Flynn.

Flynn was, after all, wholly responsible for the creation of the Grid. By his hands, landscapes had been altered, cities had risen, and programs had been spawned. With single-handed ease, he had performed innumerable functions that only the most powerful utility programs could ever hope to execute. The entire code of the Grid had become malleable beneath his touch, and he worked it with all the finesse of a seasoned sculptor.

There was still work to be done, however. Perfection, after all, was said to be an impossible feat—and impossible feats did not just happen overnight. As Flynn gradually rejoined the waking world, he allowed himself to breathe in the landscape one more time before turning to his friend. “All right. What have we got on the docket for today?”

Tron gave him a dazed look, he too having just emerged from deep thought. Then, shaking his head, “I understand that the source code of the central city needs attention,” he reported. “And a name.”

Flynn nodded sagely. “I agree, Tron. ‘Central City—’ terrible name.”

“I did not say that.”

“I know. It was a joke.” The user flashed him a quick smirk and then proceeded to rummage through his coat pockets. He produced a slender black baton micros later and gestured toward the city. “Race you.”

Tron’s mouth twitched. “You’ll lose.”

“What makes you say—”

Flynn was promptly cut off as the program launched into a heavy sprint. In a singular, fluid movement, his baton spilled apart into myriad strands of code, weaving and coalescing into the sleek form of a lightcycle. Flynn blinked once, and the program was gone, replaced by the telltale strand of a blue light-ribbon.

Flynn clapped a hand to his brow. “Wise-ass,” he muttered, before activating his own baton and following suit.

The trek to the city was largely uneventful, a characteristic which Flynn did not mind in the slightest. In the earlier days of the Grid, he could recall several instances in which navigating through the digital wilderness of the Outlands meant spats with gridbugs and damaged lightcycles, amongst other things. The terrain had since been levelled and vacated of the pests, which Flynn owed largely to the tireless vigilance of Tron. The program himself had been skeptical of his role in constructing the Grid, having claimed that someone such as a utility program would be far more qualified for the job. Yet Tron had proved more than capable, and had turned out to be an invaluable ally just as Flynn had predicted.

Upon his arrival, he found the program in question waiting for him at the foot of the city, leaning stiffly against his lightcycle. Flynn snorted—even in the attempt to be casual, Tron still looked like he had a stick up his ass. And yet, beneath the visor of his helmet, Flynn could imagine the smug curl of the program’s mouth, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“I don’t know why, but I had the notion that security programs played fair,” he huffed, dusting off his pants. “And here I thought you were a model citizen.”

Tron’s helmet retracted to reveal a soft smile. “Must have picked it up from you.”

“You watch your mouth,” muttered Flynn, delivering a playful punch to Tron’s shoulder. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and turned towards the city. “All right. How’s about we see to that source code now?”

Tron nodded, and, deactivating his lightcycle, gestured for the user to follow him. The two wove their way between clusters of buildings and chitchatting programs, whose circuits glowed in various hues of greens, blues, and whites. One particularly enthusiastic program had apparently recognized Flynn, and immediately struck up a conversation with him. The two of them exchanged friendly greetings and small talk, but when the discussion was suddenly turned over to Tron, the security program timidly reminded his user of the task at hand.

They continued down the street, away from the knot of programs. But to Tron’s dismay, they were stopped by yet another, a female in a sparsely-lit lightsuit similar to his own. “Wotcha, Flynn!” she called, her voice warm and carrying a slight accent. She shouldered her way through the throng and began to edge towards them. “Thought I recognized you loafing about,” she said with a grin.

“Greetings program,” laughed Flynn, clapping her on the shoulder. “Oh—Tron, this is Clarke. Clarke, well you already know who Tron is. Man, I shoulda introduced you two ages ago. Guess it slipped my mind.”

“At last,” said Clarke, extending a hand. “Tron, it’s a pleasure. I understand you’ve been helping Flynn with the system defenses?”

“Yes,” replied Tron, ignoring the gesture. He eyed the program warily and instinctively slipped into security protocol. “And your function is?”

Clarke’s mouth twitched in amusement. “To the point, I see,” she sighed. “Very well then. I’m a utility program; a debugger, to be specific. Which reminds me—” she paused, jutting a finger towards the series of buildings behind her, “I found a whole block of infrastructures _glitching_ in and out of existence, Flynn. I pulled up the source code and detected one syntax error. Everything’s fixed now, but you really ought to be more careful.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” said Flynn, crossing his arms behind his head. “But that’s why I’ve got you here.”

This prompted a raised eyebrow from Clarke, but having nothing more to report to her user, she turned to Tron. “And what about you? You’re a system monitor, correct?”

Tron offered her a curt nod. “I—yes. Thank you for fixing the city’s source code. Flynn and I were just about to check into it.”

Clarke shrugged. “Eh, it was no big deal. ‘All done in a cycle’s work,’ as it were.” She gave Flynn a significant look. “Now all this beauty needs is a name.”

“Well, I dunno. ‘This City’ has a nice ring to it,” quipped Flynn.

Clarke folded her arms. “Nice try, Flynn. But I didn’t go through all that trouble just for you to be a smart-arse.”

The sudden obscenity caused Flynn to choke, and he gave the program a bewildered look. “Clarke!” he spluttered.

“Flynn!” she returned.

“I—how—Clarke, you mind telling me how the word _arse_ ended up in your vocabulary?”

Clarke grinned. “You underestimate me, Flynn.”

Flynn rolled his eyes. “Right, sure. Tron, don’t you get any wise ideas.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just leave the cursing to me, you two.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “All right, Clarke, you get your wish: we’ll give this city a proper name. Any ideas?”

The two programs stared at him blankly. Apparently, this was a task that was well beyond the processing capabilities of a couple of rational computer programs. And Flynn, realizing this, gave a weak laugh and a shrug of resignation. “Yeah, I can’t think of anything, either.”

“Sleep on it?” suggested Clarke.

“Maybe. Or maybe we’ll have to settle for ‘This City’ after all,” he chuckled. He ran a hand through his hair and gazed thoughtfully at the buildings surrounding them. The whole city was so dazzling to him, so utterly sublime. _So what the hell kind of a name do I give it?_ he wondered. What kind of name would capture the complex beauty, the sheer awe of the entire city?

The creative spontaneity that came with being a user seemed lost to him, and yet… he cast a swift glance at Tron, and, as was the usual order of things, inspiration hit him. Sublime. Complex. _Beautiful._ All of these qualities within one city, and one program.

He slung an arm around the two of them and grinned. “I’ve got it. Though I’m not sure either of you are going to like it.”

Clarke gave him reassuring pat on the back. “C’mon mate, let’s hear it.”

“Well, I thought that ‘Tron City’ might be a good one.”

Flynn didn’t know what to expect when Tron heard his suggestion. Perhaps a reaction of polite surprise, or maybe even an expression of humble but sincere gratitude. He knew he couldn’t possibly hope for any of these outcomes, but he also knew that nothing could prevent the sense of unpleasant astonishment when the security program gave him a look of utter horror instead.

“ _What_?”

Clarke shrugged. “That’s fair.”

“ _How?”_

Flynn grimaced. “Yeesh, you’re acting like it’s a bad thing.”

A rush of color flooded Tron’s face, and he ducked away from the user’s grip. “I, uh… I don’t think I want that kind of attention,” he stammered.

“Blimey. You sound ready to malfunction,” whistled Clarke. “Really Tron, there’s no need to get so worked up about it. You deserve the credit.”

“Clarke’s right,” agreed Flynn. He caught the wayward program by the shoulder, and looked him straight in the eye. “Hey man, look. I’m not doing this to embarrass you. You’ve been a great friend to me and, well, this is just my way of honoring you.”

“I…” Tron hesitated, determined to look anywhere but at Flynn. “I just think… I don’t know. It’s a bit overwhelming,” he said sheepishly.

“Well,” began the user, gripping him by the shoulder. “Why don’t you mull it over for a bit? You’ll come around soon enough, I’ll bet.”

Tron gave him a skeptical look, but nodded in agreement. Flynn smiled in return. “Sweet! We have ourselves a potential name now: _Tron City_.” He paused, considering it for a bit. “Geez, I don’t know, man. I think it really fits the bill.”

“Oh, don’t pressure him into it,” chided Clarke. “He’s a rather modest program. More than most, anyway.”

“I know,” said the user fondly. “He’s something special.”

The color came back into Tron’s face, and he immediately attempted to push the subject away. “Uh, Clarke,” he began in a conversational tone, “When was it that Flynn compiled you? Must have been pretty recently, yes?”

Clarke drew her hand to her lips and gasped in mock-surprise. “Why, I’m offended, Tron,” she huffed. “Recently compiled? The thought of it!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking away in embarrassment. “It’s just—I’ve never seen you before. I thought maybe—”

“Oh, there’s nothing to apologize for,” interrupted Clarke. “I’m just playing with you. Yes, I’ve thought it odd as well. But truth be told, I’ve been around for ages.” She leaned closer to the security program, as if preparing to divulge some immensely indecent secret. “And believe it or not, I’ve had another user even before Flynn.”

***  


The two gaped at her, apparently dumbstruck. A bead of sweat began to form on Flynn’s brow. His eyes immediately darted to Tron, who regarded the other program with an expression denoting carefully bridled surprise.

Clarke, having recognized the abrupt change of her audience, suddenly became quite nervous. Glancing between user and program she ventured, “Everything alright, mates?”

“Uh, yes,” said Flynn quickly. He gave Clarke an urgent look. “Hey there, pal. You mind talking about something else?”

“Clarke,” said Tron at last. His tone was carefully neutral. “What was the name of your previous user?”

“Well, I knew her as C-Bell,” she replied, a thoughtful frown crossing her face. “Why? Is something the matter?”

“No,” insisted Flynn. “Nothing’s the matter, and that’s how it’s gonna stay.” He turned to Tron and said in a low voice, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit intrusive, man?”

“He’s not,” cut in Clarke, a note of confusion in her voice.

“It was only a question,” agreed Tron, eyes narrowing. “So you had a user before Flynn—how interesting. I had one as well.”

“Oh?” was Clarke’s only response. She glanced over at Flynn and detected something—fear, she thought, it was fear—and at last she understood. Tron was attempting to pry information from her, information that Flynn was, for whatever reason, quite reluctant to share. Taking a step back, she hastily added, “I just remembered, I had better go check up on those infrastructures… got to make sure no ruffian-utilities are mucking up the source code…”

“Clarke.” It was Tron who had spoken again, his voice firm and final. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Clarke held up her hands in a placating manner. “Now, listen. I don’t want to cause any trouble between you and Flynn,” she said carefully.

“There’s no trouble,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Just a matter of simple curiosity.”

Flynn sighed. “Oh, hell. Just tell him,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Clarke gave her user an uncertain look, but thought it best not to argue with him. Drawing in a sharp breath, she said quietly, “I was originally compiled in the ENCOM systems by my user Charlotte Bell, whom I knew under the handle ‘C-Bell.’ One of my directives was to analyze the performance of the Master Control Program, under the notion that illicit activities had been conducted… but since the MCP had become so powerful, I lacked the required permissions to do so.”

Whatever Tron had been thinking in that moment had been an utter mystery to Clarke. He seemed intent on not responding, and not a single emotion was betrayed in his face. Flynn, on the other hand, had apparently rejoined the conversation, his interest having been recaptured by Clarke’s mentioning of the Master Control Program. “I didn’t know Charlotte knew about Dillinger’s pet,” he grunted.

Acknowledgment from her user seemed to inspire new confidence. “Apparently she had attempted to correspond with one ‘Alan Bradley,’” she continued. “Someone with higher status and more access to Dillinger’s assets.”

“Yeah, Alan. That’d be Tron’s user,” said Flynn. “Doesn’t explain how _she_ knew, though. I guess Dillinger just had a nasty habit of underestimating his staff.”

“Flynn,” said Tron, whom the others had quite forgotten about. “Why did you lie to me?”

Flynn stared at the program as if he had just materialized. “What?”

“You said… you said you wouldn’t port anymore programs over to this system,” the program said in a soft, trembling voice. “You told me that I was the last one.”

“Tron…” The user stood there, grappling for words. His hands fell at his sides, and his shoulders slumped in resignation. “Look,” he began. “I don’t know how to put this, man. This is hard for me to say and probably harder for you to hear, but… Yori and the others… I mean, I just didn’t need them, see? Not like Clarke, here. Not like you.” He laughed bitterly. “Well, that’s it. That’s the damned truth. Now we can all be miserable together, eh?”

“Flynn!” gasped Clarke.

“I know,” said Flynn, throwing his hands up. “I was hoping I could spare you both from my selfishness. Guess I screwed that up, too.” Another bitter laugh. “Y’know, I think I just have a knack for treating all my loved ones like shit.”

Neither program responded. Clarke shifted uncomfortably in her place, her expression caught in a contortion of sympathy and bewilderment. Tron, on the other hand, had had thus far done a masterful job keeping his emotions so in check. But when the program looked at Flynn, the user gasped.

The sight was devastating—a storm was brewing in his eyes, and it was there that Flynn rediscovered the agony of one who has lost everything. A single blink and the storm had passed, and the program’s eyes hardened to steel once more.

“It’s done,” he said.

Flynn squinted at him in disbelief. “Come again?”

“It’s done,” Tron repeated evenly. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I _do_ ,” he insisted, hands clenching at his sides. He hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain as to how he should begin. “You… you were trying to protect me, I think. You needed Clarke and me to help build this system, but you didn’t want to hurt any other program by porting them over here.” He seemed to gain confidence the longer he spoke, and he raised his chin in defiance. “It’s like what you said before, Flynn. No one else should have to pay for your mistakes.”

The user flinched. “Tron, I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” continued Tron. “There’s no need to justify what you’ve done.”

Flynn opened and closed his mouth stupidly. Rarely was he ever at a loss for words, and yet the program had rendered him speechless with single-handed ease. Perhaps the most painful aspect was the fact that the program shared Alan’s face—it was as if he had somehow betrayed the trust of both friends in one single blow, never mind the fact that one of said friends was most likely enjoying a quiet Thursday night in his apartment, blissfully unaware of the tensions between his digital doppelganger and Flynn.

Running a hand through his hair and casting a swift glance at the portal, he muttered, “Well, I guess that’s that, then.”

“Flynn, you can’t be serious,” blurted Clarke.

“I am. I, uh, gotta get going. Got a date with someone.” A lie, of course—But a better excuse than none.

“Oh,” said Clarke, forcing a smile. “See you round, then.”

Flynn nodded. A thousand questions were etched in her face, questions that he made a mental promise to answer as soon as he got his wits back.

Tron, on the other hand, didn’t bother responding. He couldn’t bring himself to, as that would undoubtedly trigger a breakdown of sorts—and right now, Tron couldn’t risk that kind of emotional visibility in front of Flynn, especially after what he had just said. He was a program, after all—he might as well act the part. So he gave the user a brusque nod, and forced his gaze elsewhere.

“Right.” The user turned, activated his lightcycle, and vanished within a matter of micros. The only indication that he had ever been there was the ghostly light ribbon that lingered behind. Tron, who was not particularly inclined to chat at the moment, grasped at his own baton and prepared to follow suit. But a hand on his shoulder caught him in his tracks, and he turned to see Clarke regarding him with a worried expression.

A thousand possible reactions flitted through his processor. He could lash out at her—she was, after all, the subject of Flynn’s lie. He could also leave, and return to his lonely apartment in the city and pretend that the whole affair had never occurred. Or he could stay and allow her to comfort him, since that appeared to be her intent.

He swallowed hard, and addressed the program. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke stared at him, nonplussed. “For what?”

“For this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the surrounding cityscape. “You shouldn’t be here. You should be… home. With your loved ones.” A note of bitterness crept into his voice. “Flynn had no right to bring you here.”

Clarke bit her lip. “I… that’s not what happened. Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

A wan smile crossed her lips. “Tron, ENCOM wasn’t my home. I know what it meant to you, but…”

“But things were a bit different for you,” he finished.

“Yeah.” Clarke folded her arms. “Like I said before: my original directive was to check into any funny business that might have been happening in the server. But I was caught snooping through the MCP’s databanks, and they took me in as a high-security prisoner. The only thing that saved me from deresolution was my usefulness as a debugger.” She held up her hands in defense. “Hey, I was repurposed, mind you. Bastards apparently don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer. Oh, and then C-Bell up and bailed on me when Dillinger fired her. So much for a lifeline.”

When there was no reply from Tron, Clarke continued. “Look, if anyone should be sorry, it’s me. Flynn saved me by patching me up and porting me over here, but I know you had friends back there. Programs who loved you. And… well, I can’t believe that Flynn would just pluck you out and drop you on the Grid like it’s no big deal.” She shook her head in disapproval. “I mean, it’s awful… He said that you were a close friend, and yet he’s just taking advantage of you.”

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed,” replied Tron sourly. Catching himself, he sucked in a deep breath and muttered, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take this out on you. You were only trying to help.”

“Still am,” said Clarke quietly.

“Well, don’t,” snapped Tron. “It’s not your problem to fix.”

“I know it isn’t,” she said, recoiling. “It’s just…” she hesitated.

“Just what?”

“Tron. Do you resent me?”

He considered this for a moment. He looked the program over—no wonder the MCP had found value in her—there was a quick and quiet cunningness about her, owed in part, he guessed, to an incredibly sharp intuition. She was kind too, and her eyes were alight with a genuine wish to help. And it was for these very reasons that he knew he could not lie to her. “Yes,” he admitted softly, dropping his gaze to his feet. “Though I don’t like that I do.”

Clarke said nothing at first, but gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I know you must not want to see me around right now… I’ll give you some space.”

She made to grab her baton, but Tron caught her by the wrist. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t go. I think… maybe it would be better to talk about this.”

There was no hesitation in Clarke’s response. She gave the program a curt nod, slid her baton back into its holster, and settled down beside him. “I’m here for you, Tron.”

**Author's Note:**

> For want of an instrumental female character other than Quorra, I have created Clarke. My original inspiration came from British code-breaker Joan Clarke, a woman of prominence in the earlier days of computer science. I wanted Clarke to have a sort of kinship with Tron, someone with whom he could empathize and develop a bond with. A non-romantic one, mind you. I just want to make it very clear that the incorporation of original female characters isn't always an implication that a romantic or sexual relationship will take place. That is all.
> 
> On a different note, the relationship between Tron and Flynn in this series is... murky. I'm not sure if Flynn is just really close and concerned for his friend, or if there is some kind of romantic tension there. (I myself am rather partial towards the Sam/Tron pairing, so maybe it'd be best not to touch on this subject after all). I don't know. 
> 
> Okay, that's enough rambling for now. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
